


Valentine's Day was invented by Hallmark

by inkdust



Series: The Goddamn Winter Soldier (et al.) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes and the 21st Century, Did I Mention Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Valentine's Day Fluff, an excessive number of hearts, not like actual hearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9699503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkdust/pseuds/inkdust
Summary: Valentine's Day was invented by Hallmark, and Bucky was just fine with that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a Valentine's story for Steve and Bucky and this is what happened.
> 
> It fits more or less in the "Clint Barton..." universe, set about four months later, but it's not necessary to read that one first.

Technically it was Bucky’s second Valentine’s Day in the 21st century. But the first one had come only a few months after Steve found him—or he found Steve; that part was debatable—and as far as Bucky was concerned, that one didn’t count. He had been spending ninety-six percent of his time within the apartment, the only outside people he would allow in were Sam and Natalia, and he still only said a handful of words on a good day. Plus, he and Steve hadn’t gotten their shit together yet (together or separately, really), so there hadn’t been much point.

After seventy years where time meant nothing, it was strange what a difference a year made.

This year, Bucky had walked into a drugstore four days after Christmas and shit was PINK. And because he mostly had friends who were either enablers (read: Clint) or looking for entertainment (Natalia), Bucky spent the first weeks of the year sampling the heart-shaped infestation that was Valentine’s Day in America. Slowly, methodically, because as Sam was fond of saying, Bucky did things however he damn well pleased.

Good things: pink frosted donuts, chocolate-dipped strawberries, little pre-printed cards you could slip into people’s gym lockers or lab drawers or Steve’s back pocket. Especially ones with Captain America on them.

Bad things: chalky candy hearts, mystery chocolate assortments without descriptions, the card with Sergeant Barnes on it that triggered an unexpected panic attack.

But those didn’t come as often as they used to, and they didn’t hit as hard. He felt steady enough later, when he found the card on the floor beside the trash can, to pick it up and unbend the creases. Steve found him in the bedroom still holding it, stretched out on his stomach with Steve’s pillow stuffed under his chin, studying the small image of his face. It was his, still, even if he didn’t look the same. Some things were still the same.

Some things were better.

“Hey, Steve?” he murmured.

The bed dipped under Steve’s weight. “What?”

Bucky rolled onto his back and thrust the card toward him. “ _I’m so ‘Bucky’ to call you mine._ ”

Steve tossed the card over the side of the bed. “No.”

“ _You’ve star-spangled my heart_?”

“No.” Steve crawled up the mattress and over Bucky, telegraphing every movement like a neon sign. Which was sweet, and still generally safer, but Bucky knew where he wanted to be.

He hooked his ankle behind Steve’s knee, drawing him in closer. “ _Oh, Captain, my Captain_.”

Steve stared down at him for a moment with one of the rare expressions that he couldn’t read right off. And then Steve swooped down and bit his jaw.

“I think Tony ordered more crap for you.” Steve swung himself off the bed, despite Bucky’s attempts to grapple him with all four limbs. “Boxes in the common area.”

“ _Steve_.”

When Steve turned back to him, Bucky arched his back invitingly. “You gonna just leave me like this?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Good thing you have a horrifying new collection of pink and red dildos.”

Bucky lobbed a shoe at the door as Steve shut it behind him. “Some of them are vibrators!”

Steve did put up with a lot of nonsense. Living at the Tower, which they seemed to be doing nowadays, brought a default amount of nonsense. Anything that came out of Stark’s mouth, for example. Or the weird-ass stuff Natalia picked for movie night. Or Clint.

Sometimes Bucky maybe added to it.

But that was _Bucky’s_ nonsense. Steve was obligated to love it.

He was not obligated to love the metric ton of Valentine’s merchandise Bucky had amassed in their apartment. It was a god-awful waste—Bucky couldn’t deny that. He had lost most of his rationing instincts with whatever else he had lost along the way, but sometimes he still caught himself hoarding sugar packets. Come to think of it, as Bucky eyed the collection of candy by his end of the couch, this might be related.

But it wasn’t his to question. (He had twice-weekly therapy for that.) The boxes waiting upstairs were more relevant. Valentine’s itself was only days away—this might be Stark’s last round of goodies for Bucky. Was this the fourth one? Maybe the fifth.

(On the subject of therapy, maybe Stark should get that checked out.)

The delivery did not disappoint.

“Oh, man, yes.” Clint abandoned his bag of Cheetos to watch Bucky tear the first box open. “I thought I was going to have to open it.”

Bucky snorted under his breath, because Clint took naps in the air ducts, but he wasn’t that stupid. “Illegal,” he pointed out.

“Oh yeah? Are you…” Clint lifted the cardboard flap to read the address. “…Buckster Brawns?”

No comment.

Bucky pulled the first item out of the box. “The fuck?”

It was a doll—something between a doll and a Pez dispenser.

Clint leaned over to read the packaging. “‘I poop candy’? It really—” He broke off with a raspy cackle. “It really says that. Do you want this one? Because Nat will—”

Bucky handed it to him wordlessly. Something else had caught his attention. Something…

Well, it was chocolate. Even if a portion of it was colored white and pink the way no chocolate should be. The heart-print boxers portion.

Natalia’s voice came from behind him. “ _The Perfect Man_.”

Bucky closed his eyes. _You said her name,_ he wanted to growl at Clint. _You summoned her._

“‘ _He’s sweet and decadently rich!’_ ” Natalia continued reading, because she hated him. “‘ _Just how a man ought to be!’_ ”

“Shut up.”

“I’ve got to hand it to Tony, he knew just what you needed.”

Bucky let the arm whir just a little.

Natalia hooked her chin over his shoulder, completely undeterred. “How do you think Steve will take it?”

“Are you kidding?” Clint interrupted. “That _is_ Steve. Look at it.”

Bucky looked at it. It did _not_ look like Steve. Not the hair, not the jawline, not the sculpted chocolate chest.

“My god,” Natalia murmured. “Steve Rogers is a candy bar.”

With a scowl, he shoved it back with the rest and hauled his boxes toward the elevator.

“Does he have that underwear in real life? It’s cute.”

Bucky sent them a salute the metal arm excelled at.

*

Steve was half-asleep that night when Bucky snuck into bed. Revenge was sweet—he had trounced Clint in Mario Kart.

“Buck?” Steve mumbled. He tried to roll onto his back, but Bucky stopped him, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist and pressing his lips to the nape of his neck.

“Who’d you think it was, punk?”

“Thought it was you.” Steve’s inhale still resembled a snore. “Obviously.”

Bucky grinned. Steve was best this way, when his brain finally gave up policing his mouth. “Did you like the balloons Stark found online?”

The flattest box had been filled with nothing but folded Mylar. Like any sensible person, Bucky had inflated each of them with helium in the lab and tied the bundle of ribbons to Steve’s gym bag.

“One of them was shaped like a dick,” Steve said into the pillow.

“Yeah.”

“So, no, not really.”

Bucky wedged his knees closer into the crook of Steve’s. “You’re a right barrel of monkeys, aren’t you, Rogers?”

Steve rolled halfway onto his stomach, smashing his face against the pillow. “You’re doing an awful lot of talking.”

“Hmm, somethin’ you’d rather have me doing?”

“Not talking.”

Bucky laughed, close enough to Steve’s ear that he got a swat in the face. “Alright, go back to sleep.”

Steve said something to the pillow that sounded like “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Bucky murmured.

He listened Steve’s breath deepen, letting the rhythm slow his own. “And thanks,” he whispered against Steve’s shoulder, after he knew Steve was asleep. “I know this stuff’s been driving you crazy. But it’s made me really happy.”

There. He was practicing articulating his feelings. That didn’t win as much credit as if Steve had actually been awake to hear it, but the words were there. The words hadn’t always been there.

He should do something real too, he thought as his mind began to drift. Something to make up for all the mess. A card without Captain America on it. Maybe one with the right words.

*

Bucky scribbled and scratched out four attempts before he gave up. It was like the letters he’d sent home from Europe, struggling to let Steve know how much he missed him without giving himself away. He didn’t have to worry about that now—that was really the goddamn point. But nothing sounded right.

The morning of the 14th, Bucky intended to wake up before Steve—to start the coffee for him, if nothing else—but one of the side effects of restabilization was a growing trend of actually sleeping. At night, in a bed. If anyone else entered the apartment, he was still up like a shot (not likely; he and JARVIS had an understanding), but apparently his body had decided that Steve’s pre-run routine warranted zero consciousness.

Steve, on the other hand, had left the coffee hot and a mug for Bucky sitting on the counter, one of the five red ones they’d acquired in the past two weeks. It had a cartoon dog on the side, Spoony or Spoopy or something, Clint had said. It was kind of cute. Bucky slid the pink stationery out from under it.

_Tony wants my help with something—I didn’t ask. Back later, stay out of trouble._

Bucky scoffed. Steve was way more likely to get into trouble.

That was also not Bucky’s problem right now. He filled his mug and stood at the counter for a moment just breathing it in. It was a good morning, no nightmares. Really a shame he couldn’t have been the one to wake Steve. He wouldn’t have let Steve leave the bed.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, you dork,” Bucky muttered at the note. He liked the word _dork_. Nat had taught him that one specifically for Steve.

The rest of the morning was quiet, just the way Bucky liked it. He didn’t bother getting dressed, lounging on the couch with a string of Disney movies and cherry Ring Pops until JARVIS chimed around two in the afternoon.

“Agent Romanov is requesting entry.”

Bucky glanced toward the elevator and then down at his heart-patterned boxers. He sighed. “Sure, let her in.”

Natalia’s lips curled when her eyes skimmed over the shorts, but she was merciful today. “Get dressed, you’ve been invited to tea.”

“Tea?” Her outfit hadn’t escaped him, lighter than what she usually wore, with a disconcerting number of ruffles. Natalia’s version of his Valentine’s spoof.

“Tea.” She reached across him to grab a Ring Pop, ignoring his frown. “Tony always goes overboard and it takes him forever to set up, so Pepper makes plans to kill time.”

Bucky heaved himself up at her prodding and headed for the shower. “I don’t really like tea.”

“Not the point.”

Apparently it wasn’t. Bucky was left still vaguely wondering what was happening when he found himself in a high-ceilinged private room of a ritzy hotel, seated at a polished table with Natalia, Pepper, Wanda, Agent Hill, and, inexplicably, Dr. Banner.

“He gets all nervous and shy every year,” Natalia whispered in Bucky’s ear, “but he loves it.”

When the servers started bringing out the shining tiered trays of scones and cakes, Bucky began to see the merit. Pretty much every pastry was too small, aside from the pastel sandwich cookies that were so sugary he couldn’t imagine bigger ones (he still ate four), but they kept bringing out more trays and Pepper kept sending him secret smiles when Bucky snuck another bite-sized cake, like she was honestly happy to have him there.

Bucky would do a lot for Pepper. Hell, he was wearing a suit.

He remembered going out in Brooklyn, remembered dressing up and fussing with his hair and enjoying every bit of it. If that was a piece of Bucky Barnes he hoped to get back, he hadn’t yet. But days like this made him feel like whoever he was now might be okay.

He couldn’t follow the entire conversation, mainly when they veered into TV shows he hadn’t seen (he and Steve were working on _Star Trek_ ), but there was something nice about sitting at the table, about being in the room. The wide windows let in a flood of sunlight and a striking view of the city. The voices around him were cheerful and distinct—Pepper, playful and bright; Natalia, husky and warm; Agent Hill’s crisp, dry tone and Wanda’s lilting accent. He knew them.

“And you?” Wanda asked across the table. “Do you have Valentine plans with Steve tonight?”

Bucky cracked a smile. “I don’t know, I think Steve’s had enough of that stuff by now.”

She smiled back, gentle and genuine. “He is very sweet with you.”

Bucky felt himself blush a little. “Yeah, well.”

He’d given Steve a lot to deal with. Even after almost a year together, bad days still found Steve sitting patiently through Bucky’s silence and cooking up fried apples and toast when Bucky wouldn’t eat anything else. He was ready to spar even when Bucky hit too hard, and he waded through every single nightmare.

“He’s a goddamn saint,” Bucky muttered.

“I think that hickey on your neck says otherwise, big guy,” Natalia said breezily. Like that would distract him as she swiped the last half of a scone from his plate.

Bucky scowled. _Any_ one else and they would be flat on that fancy parquet. She got away with so much shit.

He pulled out his phone to text Steve under the table. _Nat is being mean are you done helping Stark yet_

It vibrated a minute later. _Yeah, I’m back at home. Don’t let me sign up for that again._

Bucky grinned. _We know that’s a losing battle, pal._

The sun was just beginning to set when Happy returned him to the Tower, after his shy thanks and a kiss on the cheek from Pepper that made him duck his head with the urge to say _ma’am_. “Tell Steve I’m sorry if we’ve made you late,” she’d said.

It wasn’t until he was in the elevator that his tea-warmed brain had thought, _Late for what?_

The doors opened and Bucky stared.

Steve was waiting at the edge of the living room, silhouetted against the pink and orange sky. “What do you think?”

Bucky realized he wasn’t breathing. He exhaled in a rush, his eyes falling shut, and for a moment part of him wondered whether it would all disappear when he opened them again.

It didn’t disappear. The living room furniture was still pushed together, couches sitting face to face and kitchen chairs stacked on the end tables. Giant sheets were draped over them, forming the most elaborate fort Bucky’s seven-year-old self could have ever imagined. Their couch cushions—no, that had to be four couches’ worth of cushions—covered the floor in the middle, spread with Bucky’s favorite fleece blankets. And then the two dozen candles, and the plates of food set out on the coffee table, fried apples and bacon and pancakes shaped like fucking hearts.

Bucky scrubbed his hand down his face, his eyes stinging. “Christ, Rogers.”

“Are you hungry?”

He sniffed noisily. “I’m fucking starving, everything there was made out of chiffon cake.”

Steve laughed, and so Bucky laughed, a little hysterical. He glanced down at his suit and then back at Steve, looking perfect in his softest sweatpants. “I’m overdressed.”

“You look good overdressed.” Steve reached for the buttons of Bucky’s jacket. “But I can help with some of that.”

“I might as well just change into—”

Steve stopped him when he moved toward the bedroom. “Not yet, I have plans for that too. Later.” He nodded at something on the end of the counter.

Bucky blinked at the pink bottle. It didn't belong in the kitchen, with that kind of label it was… “Is that new bubble bath? Did you buy me fucking Valentine’s bubble bath?”

And that was it, apparently. That was what did Bucky in. Pink bubble bath. He let his head fall to Steve’s shoulder, pressing his face into Steve’s neck. “I _love_ you—my god, I love you.” Steve’s arms wrapped around him, and he was pretty sure his legs melted. “More than any other thing on this damn planet, I love you.”

“More than bubble bath?”

“What did I say, Stevie.”

“More than any other thing?”

“More than any other damn thing.”

Well. Would you look at that.

The words were right there.

**Author's Note:**

> l0g0phile: omg this is so fluffy  
> this is up there with the sappiest things you've ever written I swear, just for this last scene
> 
> So I hope that's what you came here for. Let me know in comments/kudos!
> 
> Also, the Love Monster that poops candy and The Perfect Man, which is solid chocolate, are 100% real discoveries from my 100% professional research at Walgreens.


End file.
